


The Singers and their Song

by Missy



Category: The Venture Bros
Genre: Books, Christmas, Family Fluff, Gen, Humor, New York, Parody, Theatre, Yuletide Madness 2015, Yuletide Treat, post-season 6
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-09 05:29:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5527775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missy/pseuds/Missy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Ventures are loose in New York!  Brock and Hank's last-minute gift buying rampage goes seriously awry, and Dean finds himself humiliated when he takes his father to a certain revolutionary musical.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Singers and their Song

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jougetsu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jougetsu/gifts).



“Dean, I am not going to spend my Christmas at a performance of McKean The Musical.”

“Aww, Pop, it’ll be fun!” Dean said. He tucked his scarf closer to his chin, puffing out a breath of air as he tried to combat the chilly New York cold that had settled around them. “The score’s really neat! I hope Brock and Hank get here soon, I don’t want them to miss out on the first act!”

“Yes, I still have a migraine from your blasting it through the apartment.” Adjusting to a penthouse in the wake of the destruction of the compound had not been easy. 

Dean said, "they say it’s the first really modern musical to make money on the great white way, and I think we’d be doing ourselves a huge favor being part of it!”

“Musical theater isn’t fun,” Rusty said. “It’s an excuse for people to act pretentiously about their feelings in public while dancing around in sparkly costumes. It’s embarrassing.”

“But you’ll have fun, Pop! Besides, we’ve got nothing to do before school starts up again and Hank and Brock are all the way across town…I think they’re shopping.” He added as a whispered aside, “for us!”’

“Ugh, fine. But only because I don’t want the tickets to go to waste.” 

With that, father and son lined up, prepared to have the most enchanting (or in Rusty’s case enchantingly boring) evening ever.

%%%

“Hank,” sighed Brock. “I don’t think your brother’s gonna care if the book you get him’s a little wrinkled up.”

“No can do, Brock,” said Hank. “It’s gotta be perfect if I’m gonna give it to him after what he went through this year.”

“Yeah,” Brock sighed, scratching the back of his neck and yearning for a smoke. How and why the hell New York had turned into a smoke-free city he had no clue. “I’m sure he’ll like it. I bet he misses his stuff.” 

“Yep; we both know he loves that weird Fan play.” Hank dove deep into the bookstore’s dusty stacks, eventually pulling up a pristine hardback copy. “Got it!” He grinned. “Lady Window’s Fan, and it’s a first edition!”

“Lady Windermere's Fan. Great, let’s get out of here,” said Brock, edging toward the door. 

“Boy, Dean’s gonna lose his mind when he sees this,” Hank grinned. “The cover smells like dust and tears just like his used to! It’s perfect!”

He took the volume over to the clerk, who eyed the teen a he slapped the book down on the counter. “One Windjammer’s Fan, clerk guy!”

“Ummm,” said the clerk. “It’s Lady Windermere's Fan. And the fact that you can’t seem to pronounce the title makes me fairly certain that I shouldn’t trust this almost-perfect first edition copy to you.”

“Oh, it’s not for me – it’s for my theater dork brother!”

“Look, buddy – whatever you want I’ll pay for it,” said Brock from the doorway.

“Really?” the clerk asked. “Are you prepared to pay over a thousand dollars for it?”

“…screw this, come on, Hank.”

“I’m not leaving without the book!” said Hank. “My brother deserves something cool and you’re not going to stop me from getting it!”

“Even me, Hank?”

The costumed man who dropped from the ceiling sported a pair of sensible glasses, a sweater set and a royal purple cape, and seemed to come from nowhere – or so Hank would have thought had he not seen the 

“Oh no,” Hank said, “it’s…excuse me, mister, who are you?”

“It is I! The Lib-barbarian! Defender of books everywhere!” The criminal pointed toward Hank and added, “and you’re in for a nasty paper cutting!”

“….Really?” Brock muttered around his cigarette.

%%%

The theater filled with a cheerful blast of modern music. Onstage, a man in a bandage was rapping about being forgotten, about his homies back in Rhode Island, and about taking his stand and making a difference. In the front row one guy sat spellbound; and his father sat beside him, glowering childishly.

“How much longer will this noise be going on?” asked Rusty.

“This is just the opening number, Pop!” Dean wiggled his shoulders in happy rhythm to the music. “These are some really kickin’ rhymes.”

“You sound like somebody who’s on the shrooms.” 

“Shh!” someone behind them chastised, and Rusty sank lower in his chair, grumbling all the while.

The play progressed on, as McKean grew sicker and more determined to make it to the Continental Congress. Finally, he ended up in Virginia, dying dramatically. And Rusty, as if goaded by the play and every single actor within it, sprung to his feet in protest just as McKean went into his dying soliloquy.

“Oh COME ON, ‘dying breath’ doesn’t rhyme with ‘best yet’!” 

“Pop!” hissed Dean beside him.

“No! I’ve paid my money to sit through this thing, Dean! I demand quality!”

“Quality? Hah! Why don’t you try and do it yourself, buddy?” The actor playing McKean was suddenly on his feet and fully animated. Nervously, Rusty sank lower in his seat. “No! I’m serious, Pam – this guy thinks he knows everything about music! Well, I wanna see him prove it to us! Quality! He wants quality and I’m too busy trying not to die, dancing in this heavy coat!”

“Well, you don’t have to be so…”

“I quit…” said McKean, and stormed off the stage.

All eyes were on Rusty now. The actress playing McKean’s wife turned her sharp gaze toward him. “So, do you think you could do better?”

He called upon every ounce of training he’d suppressed, the horrible memories of life as a child star that he’d denied – and then said proudly, “give me a tri-corner hat.”

%%%

By the time Hank and Brock fought their way out of the bookstore and to the theater, Rusty had been massacring the music for forty minutes. Brock has to act as a human shield just to get them out of the theater and on a subway car.

Rusty kept the white powdered wig on his head – he secretly thought it makes him look distinguished – while Brock chain smoked. Meanwhile, Hank held out a small, bloodstained gift for his brother. 

Dean unwrapped it, his eyes going wide. “Lady Windermere's Fan. I haven’t thought of this in a long time.”

Hank grinned. “Merry Christmas, bro.”

And it was indeed very merry Christmas for Team Venture.

At least until the lizard people attacked.

**Author's Note:**

> The Hamilton parody was right there, I just had to go with it. Happy Yuletide!


End file.
